


fear of falling

by frogfarm



Series: Alias: Hellcat [3]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Annual Femslash Kinkmeme, Bondage, Community: femslash_kink, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom/sub Play, F/F, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fisting, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 06:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16805566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: Jessica thinks she knows what she's getting into. Trish has a new surprise.





	fear of falling

**Author's Note:**

> For Femslash Kink 2018. Requested: Trish/Jessica, D/s, consensual non-consent, rape roleplay, Domme!Trish, sub!Jess.

Trish's latest modifications to the apartment wouldn't keep Luke Cage out, at least not for long. Against anything short of that -- say, someone on Reds -- they were guaranteed for the next five years. Of course the fine print added caveats about potentially being superseded by newly available verified credible scientific information. Bottom line, it was a safer space than ever before. That's why she comes here. 

Apart from the obvious.

"Were you followed?"

"No." Jessica resists a smartalecky jibe. From the sound of things, Trish is in no mood. She hands over her leather jacket without a word, feeling the familiar twinge inside as Trish slips into it with a small murmur of obvious pleasure. She'd opened the door to her apartment stark raving nude, and Jessica dove inside with a squawk before some stray camera could immortalize them on Youtube.

"I've got something for you."

"Oh?" Again she resists, at least for a moment. "Does it get bigger in water?"

Trish harrumphs out the corner of her mouth, turning and heading for the safe room at the center of the apartment. Since taking charge of her life and stepping up her physical regime, the room doubles as a workable if slightly cramped gymnasium where a series of personal trainers put Trish through increasingly demanding paces. Now, as is ever more the case these days, it's Jessica's turn.

She follows, tantalized by the brief glimpses of pale buttocks beneath the swaying hem of her own jacket. The temptation is to relax, to utterly discard any hint of control or even caring. If she could ever feel that and believe it this is the one person in this life she could feel it with, and yet still she can feel herself holding back, mistrusting to the last.

"Down." The door shuts behind them, the click of the latch gunshot-loud in her ears. Jessica sinks to the padded floor, almost putting her hands behind her head and then just sitting, awaiting further instruction. She almost laughs at the thought of Trish's mother witnessing the events currently unfolding; the nightmare disciplinarian of their teenage years would no doubt be less scandalized by any preference or perversity, and more cheered by her own daughter taking the dominant role.

"What are you smiling about?" Trish is messing with something. Jessica strains her eyes to see, not daring to move any other muscle.

"I'm doing like you always told me." Jessica surprises herself with how little sarcasm she's using. "Trying to think positive."

"Close your eyes."

Again with the instant obedience. But it's only because she wants to.

Right?

"I know what you're thinking." Trish's voice is thick with tension, sharp with desire. "But it's not going to be that easy."

Jessica swallows the automatic retort even as it screams inside her to be let out. If she didn't know better she'd swear Trish is amped up again, charged up and gone all super with the power of science. Part of her wants to find out. The rest knows she hasn't learned enough yet to counter most of Trish's moves, even with the advantage of strength.

"Face down," Trish orders. "Ass up." 

She can't help the sudden anger that boils up inside. "Hey, just a goddamn min--"

A hand grips the back of her neck. Trish's scent fills her senses, the flesh of that other body so insufferably nearly-naked. She can feel the spot on her arm almost burning in its proximity to the tiny blast furnace between Trish's legs, radiating tendrils of heat.

"Do I have to hurt you to get you to do what you're told?"

"Jesus, Trish --"

"He's not here." The hand releases her even as a foot presses between her shoulder blades, the shock more than anything forcing her downward until her cheek is pressed against the padding. Trish grabs her hands, pulling them behind her back. There's no superstrength there and for a split second Jessica thinks to resist before swallowing all her emotion, imagining herself at the mercy of this woman.

Helpless.

"You'd better be done thinking you have any choice about this." Trish sounds even more determined, a precursor to the thin, flexible rod that whips through the air and contacts Jessica smartly on one jean-clad cheek. A resounding crack echoes through the tiny room, along with an uncontrolled shriek.

"What's the matter?" Trish sweetly inquires.

"Fuck!" Jessica can't stop herself, writhing and shuddering as reactionary waves continue to reverberate through her body. "You know I'm not fucking Luke! I can't --"

"Any more," Trish carefully enunciates. The tip of the whip gently, menacingly prods the as-yet unsmacked side. "You're not fucking Luke...any more."

"No," Jessica manages to gasp; head bowed, hips twitching and pushing back and forth.

"Who are you fucking?"

The natural response for some reason fails to work for her, and Jessica finds herself going off on a tangent about what the safest course of action might be until Trish tires of waiting.

"Back." Trish is lifting her up, guiding Jessica to lie back, lift and spread her arms and legs. The cold feel of metal nearly startles her eyes open, but the soft and padded lining is a novel and pleasant sensation. Before it can register she hears and feels the click of a lock sliding into place, followed by another.

"You can open your eyes now." Trish sounds secretly amused. "Not like it'll make any difference."

The sight that greets her is pretty much what it felt like: A matched pair of spreader bars, one keeping her legs nicely apart, her heels up high; the other posing her arms out wide, perfectly crucified.

"Who are you fucking?"

"You." Her mouth is a desert. But Trish shakes her head.

"You're not fucking anyone." One hand grips the crotch of her jeans, and Jessica freezes at the sound of scissors, the feel of fabric being carefully sliced away; cool air finding her flesh, the underwear beneath being exposed bit by silky bit. She'd worn the good stuff, and the thought of it being cut up for yucks nearly makes her speak up again.

"I'm fucking you." Trish tosses the scraps of denim to one side, grabbing the thin fabric of her T-shirt and snipping a quick pair of holes in the chest. " _I'm_... fucking _you_."

"Yes," Jessica hisses between clenched teeth. That seems safe. "More of that. Please..."

"Shut up." Trish doesn't sound mad, but her voice is deathly quiet. Jessica freezes, trembling with anticipation.

"Lucky for you I didn't have a gag made out of this stuff." The scissors click again, and Trish removes her underwear with one quick pull. "Guess I'll have to improvise."

Jessica's eyes widen. As does her mouth, right before she realizes what a silly idea that was and Trish stuffs her own underwear in before she can get a word out. All she can manage are outraged grunts that grow more intense as Trish reaches over to grab a nearby pair of pantyhose, using these to fix the impromptu gag firmly in place.

"I told you." One hand finds her crotch, fingers spreading her rough and rude as Trish briefly suckles one painfully erect nipple. Then the sensation of lips and tongue is gone and an explosion of pain sends her jaw hanging, a soundless scream caught behind the gag at the feeling of a nipple clamp closing down. The process is repeated on the other side and now she's hyperventilating, feeling little weights dangling from the clamps on delicate chains.

"Like it or not..."

The whip meets her ass again, sending her crotch thrusting toward the ceiling, forcing another attempted scream. This only makes it easier for Trish to reach her target as she patiently administers a series of well-timed strokes, until Jessica's face is as red as the welts below. She pants and drools and screams muffled threats into the gag, head thrashing from side to side.

"You're getting fucked."

One finger enters her, pushing deep and down; pulling her open even as it puts pressure on her insides, making her asshole twitch and grasp at nothing as Trish pulls free.

"And you're getting it hard."

Two fingers, spreading and gaping the twitching passage inside her even as the angry swell of her clit thrusts ever skyward, a tiny cock begging to be sucked.

"But even if you don't like it..."

Three fingers, only now beginning to strain the limits of her flesh even as the muscles grasp and relax further still, admitting Trish to new depths. Jessica can't help trying to shove up, force those fingers deeper, and Trish abruptly pulls out, landing a hard smack right on her spread and open flesh that draws a fresh muffled scream. She realizes she's biting down on her panties so as not to swallow them, brain on fire with her own funk flooding her twitching tongue, her quivering nostrils.

"You're going to come."

She'd always liked fucking Luke. For a lot of reasons, but the biggest? No pun intended.

She could let herself go.

With all her might, Jessica strains against the bars.

They don't budge.

Staring her down, Trish slathers her own fingers with her tongue, coating them in saliva before reaching down and slowly, so slowly Jessica could cheerfully murder her without a second thought, begins to rotate and lean forward. There's that fourth finger, and it's only because Trish has such beautifully delicate hands that they're going to have any hope of getting past that crucial rubicon without additional lubrication. 

"You are going to come, right?" Trish adopts a conversational tone, as though she were inviting someone to a party. It utterly belies the reality of her hand inside Jessica, simultaneously a gentle caress and gripping, absolute control. "I'm not boring you, am I?"

Tears run from the corners of her eyes as Jessica tries to lift her body up, slamming back into the floor. Then Trish is reaching out, pulling the gag from her mouth even as Jessica can feel her entire body begin to spasm, screaming in pure, unadulterated rage.

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING BITCH -- AH, FU-- FU-UUUUUU--"

At which point things devolve into wordless howling, the muscles of her cunt clenching so tight a tiny part of her worries Trish might lose the hand, or at least end up with broken bones (Trish does admit to similar concerns later on). But the howls and the spasms trail away, interrupted by an occasional wail, rising and falling; and Trish's fingers uncurl as she eases out almost as slowly as she'd gone in.

Jessica doesn't even hear the bars being unlocked. All she knows is she's free to snuggle, hearing only the sound of their breath, the hum of the air conditioner.

"I'm not even gonna ask where you got those."

"I have friends in Stark places." Trish nuzzles her ear, turning it into a nibble. "Can you come again?"

"Um." Jessica tries not to shiver at the raw, smoky desire in the other woman's voice. "Maybe?"

"Well, then." And Trish is laying her back down, turning around and crawling on top, and Jessica groans even as her eyes light up.

Trish chuckles, nestling in to feast. 

"Best get right on that."


End file.
